


Disintegration of Structure

by areyoumarriedriver



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-10
Updated: 2013-03-10
Packaged: 2017-12-04 20:03:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/714541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/areyoumarriedriver/pseuds/areyoumarriedriver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“A cavity virus – the entire system. I don’t think it started out that way, but look at it – it’s just searching and searching for space to fill. That last planet- it wiped it clean, and still moved on. Not enough space, it must be massive. And possibly sentient,” he frowns shakes his head as ideas and possibilities fly through his brain, leaps and bounds and thoughts and thoughts and thoughts to fill the empty space where he definitely hadn’t been thinking about his wife. “It’s never good when it’s sentient,” he mutters as Clara’s eyes go wide.</p><p>“Not enough space,” she muses and he moves her aside this time, typing quickly, connecting and comparing systems – each planet had been progressive – it was searching information – looking for space to fill. </p><p>“It looks like it uses the acquired knowledge to seek out new areas to target-”</p><p>“It would need the biggest hard drive in the universe,” Clara shrugs. “There must be one right?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Disintegration of Structure

**_­Disintegration of Structure_ **

“Are you _sure_ you’re an alien?”

“What? Of course I’m _sure_ Clara –” She’s impertinent – he’ll give her that. He supposes that’s a good thing – she never listens. Doesn’t do anything she’s told. But she hadn’t before either, had she? He’s still working it out, in his head. How she could have died twice and still existed – he feels a drive to understand. How could she have? Why her? Was it reproducible? He thinks of everyone he's ever lost - _No, no don’t think like that old man_.

“Doctor,” she is snapping her fingers in front of him and he blinks in surprise, seeing her standing there, arms crossed as she glares up at him. “I’m just saying, for an advanced alien species, you do seem a bit daft. I mean, this is just basic _code_ -”

“Basic code?! This is written in an _alien_ language, and is 47 th century code – that is far from basic and – did you just call me _daft_?” She rolls her eyes as she shoves him aside, standing in front of the console and ignoring him. “Clara!”

“Stop calling me that! My mother called me that. The children called me that – everyone else calls me Oswald, I don’t know _why_ you insist on calling after me like my grandfather,” she mutters as she types quickly.

“You can’t _read_ that – what are you doing?”

“Learning,” she snaps, glaring over her shoulder.  “You’ll just sit here and stare at it and wait for some brilliant concept to fall over you in a swell of rushing music or something equally asinine. Honestly Doctor, I mean, you _do_ always end up with a plan, I’ll admit, but sometimes I wonder if the plans don’t somehow end up with a _you_. Anyway, I’m just going to learn while you pace and mutter and do the thing with your hands,” she waves as he gapes at her.

“Thing with my _hands_ ,” he splutters and she imitates him, jerking her hands in small spastic movements as she frowns at the screen. “I don’t _do_ that.”

“Yes you do, now shut up.” She murmurs as he starts pacing behind her. The ship they’d come across – well he says come across, but it was more like accidentally landed on. He’d been aiming for Barcelona – the planet, not the city. He never did quite seem to make it there. They’d ended up on a starship – sailing through the stars with a comatose crew of 4000, deadlocked controls and a coincidental trail of devastated planets in its wake. Always ignore a coincidence.

Except his curiosity was piqued – how did all of these planets _happen_ to fall into chaos after this ship sailed by? Some governments fell, some to riots, some to power outages and mass failures – the economy simply crashed on one, all technology ceased to function on another – the last planet had its memory banks wiped – all of them, technological or flesh. And entire planet of people who remembered nothing.

“I thought you said all ship functions were offline?” Clara interrupts his line of thought and he pivots, his long coat flaring neatly around his knees – he’d forgotten how much he missed the dramatic flare of a good long coat until he’d put one back on. Of course, nothing beat a cape – but it was close enough. “ _Doctor_ ,” Clara sighs and he glances at her apologetically. “Honestly, you’re like a kid with ADHD. Systems. Offline, yes or no?”

“Yes. Well, no – not _all_ systems. Minimal life support, which includes the artificial gravity obviously. And navigation is functioning, though badly and without any set course, or so it would seem.”

“The communications relay is open.” She glances at him archly and taps a finger to the screen. “Look.”

“Oh it couldn’t possibly be – clearly you’re misreading it because it’s in an _alien_ language and – is that the communications log?” He peers at the monitor, crowding the small girl in front of him and she huffs, shoving him back with an elbow.

Impertinent.

But he smiles at the reminder regardless. “ _Yes_ ,” she sighs with a roll of her eyes. “It’s sending out signals – alien language my arse – that’s binary code, plain and simple. It seems to run a program when a response is received, wait a mo’-” she types quickly and code starts to fly across the screen at a pace even _he_ gets a headache from.

 _Computers_.

He far prefers technology of a more solid sort – wires and springs and hangy bits and a path he can trace, physically.  “Ha!”

“Ha what?” he asks, peering up at the screen as she beams.

“It alters course when it gets a response. And Doctor – every planet we’ve passed responded,” she breathes the words out, her eyes lit up.

It’s a bit foreign for him – to have a companion who thinks ahead of him. But Clara’s a proper genius – and he supposes, in a way, River had- _no don’t think about River_. Sometimes it’s the hardest thing to do. Not think of her – but once he starts, he loses himself – drowns in memories and what ifs and maybes and every single time it seems to take longer to emerge. Longer to heal all of those reopened wounds. One day, he thinks, he just… _won’t_. Won’t heal. Won’t emerge. He’ll slip and fall and in the meantime, he just doesn’t think about it.

“A cavity virus – the _entire_ system. I don’t think it started out that way, but look at it – it’s just searching and searching for space to fill. That last planet- it _wiped_ it clean, and still moved on. Not enough space, it must be _massive_. And possibly sentient,” he frowns shakes his head as ideas and possibilities fly through his brain, leaps and bounds and thoughts and thoughts and thoughts to fill the empty space where he definitely hadn’t been thinking about his wife. “It’s _never_ good when it’s sentient,” he mutters as Clara’s eyes go wide.

“Not enough space,” she muses and he moves her aside this time, typing quickly, connecting and comparing systems – each planet had been progressive – it was searching information – looking for space to fill.

“It looks like it uses the acquired knowledge to seek out new areas to target-”

“It would need the biggest hard drive in the universe,” Clara shrugs. “There must be one right? Just the absolute biggest datacore-”

_Biggest hard drive in the universe._

He gasps, grabbing Clara’s hand and running full tilt back to the TARDIS. “Doctor! What is it?” He doesn’t respond, slamming the doors and flying up to the console as he presses switches and pulls levers and inputs coordinates he still knows by heart – even centuries later.

As if he could ever forget.

“Don’t think about it,” he snaps at himself, and Clara jumps next to him. He must have sounded harsher than he’d thought. “Sorry,” he apologises and she nods with a frown. “I know where it is. We have to get there before the ship does.”

“And do what?” Clara asks with a frown.

“It _can’t_ take the Library,” he insists. “We’ll – we’ll – I don’t know what we’ll do. _Something_. We have to – it can’t get _in_ there. Absolutely not.”

“What’s the Library?” she asks, but he ignores her, concentrating on flying. She doesn’t ask again, and when he glances at her in surprise – _of course_ – she’s on the handheld the TARDIS had provided her with. “Biggest data core in the universe, houses every book known to mankind in both physical form and virtual form within the core,” she reads off, looking up with a grin. “That sounds _brilliant_. Why have we not been there before?”

“ _Because_ ,” his anger is irrational and not aimed at her, but she flinches regardless and he feels sorry instantly. “It’s infested.”

“Oh. With what?”

“Flesh eating shadows,” he growls and she frowns.

“But then why would the virus want that? It’s already infested-”

“It’s a _planet_ , Oswald. Not a building – the whole _planet_ is the Library. The Vashta Nerada inhabit the surface. But the _core_ is the hard drive.” He runs his hands through his hair in agitation as he searches for an outcome. “How do we get it to turn back?”

“If the Library is a planet inhabited by – by _flesh eating_ shadows – it obviously has no _people_ on it. So why not just – let it have it?” He whirls on her with such intensity that she steps back, a look of fear on her face.

“ _No!_ ” He shouts the word, glaring at her. “It cannot have her.”

“Doctor, please,” her voice is laced with fear and he blinks, stepping back in surprise and looking at her apologetically. “Her who?”

He swallows, a wave of pain crashing over his mind as he shakes his head. He shuts his eyes, and he can see her there, a smirk, bright eyes, arched brows, the smell of ions and time. When he opens his eyes, Clara is staring at him, concern all over her face. “The data core houses the digital memories of six people, plus a program to safeguard them.”

“Well, maybe the program will combat the virus. But even if not – Doctor, there are four thousand people on that ship. They’d be safe,” she finishes softly. “I don’t like to go all Spock on you – but six versus _four thousand_ -”

“One of them is my wife,” his voice is hoarse as he speaks the words and he can feel tears stinging at his eyes even as a look of shock crosses her face. “There used to be thousands trapped there, because of the infestation. She gave her life to save them, and I – uploaded her to save her the only way I could. Her memories, everything she _was_ – is in that datacore.”

“Doctor,” Clara breathes out and he shakes his head, closing his eyes.

“I’m not a good man, Clara Oswin Oswald. I have saved this universe countless numbers of times. And this time – the needs of the few win, because I _am_ the few. And I _need_ her there. Alive – in one way or another. _I need that_.  I don’t know what I would become if she was – was truly gone.” He sighs, sinking into the jumpseat and she stares at him, leaning against the console.

“You must have loved her a great deal,” she whispers, and he looks up in surprise. “I mean I always knew there was something – sort of infinitely sad about you. I thought maybe your planet – or your friends. But this – I mean those too but _this_ …”

“We were married for hundreds of years. I loved her long before that. Almost – almost the very moment I met her, though I didn’t want to. She was so _beautiful_ – so bright, so quick – you – you would love her.” He isn’t looking at Clara as he speaks his eyes fastened on a spot on the wall, and seeing none of it.

“Right. So – we can’t kill those people. We might not be able to stop that ship. So – other options. Can we retrieve them from the Library?” He blinks up at her in confusion and shakes his head.

“No – they’re just memories – no physical form-”

“So?” she scoffs, and he gapes at her. “I mean come on – there’s transportation, what is that but digitally encoded information reassembled? Surely we can figure _something_ out – and then the crazy sentient virus and the flesh eating shadows can have the whole planet, and maybe we can chuck all future annoying monsters there as well,” she beams. “But I need to access the Library code-”

“Can’t go down there,” he warns, staring at her in wonder as she nods, clearly thinking hard.

“Right, right – I am rather fond of my skin, thanks. Can we communicate with them?”

“I- I’ve never tried,” he confesses and she gapes at him in shock.

“What?”

“I’ve never-”

“You just _left_ her there? I mean I know it’s not the same but it’s _something_.” She splutters in indignation as he shakes his head.

“It’s complicated. She time travelled too – we never met in the right order. I was still seeing her, after she died. Could still – any moment now-”

“How about now?” Clara types and peers at the screen as she ignores his protests and he can see her connecting with the Library hard drive.

“Clara, no – no – I’m not – I can’t-”

“Hello Doctor,” Charlotte’s solemn little face is staring out at him from the screen, and the Doctor smiles, his mouth tight as he fights to keep his displeasure with Clara off his face.

“Charlotte Lux, look at you!” He swallows as she frowns, far too much age in her eyes as she looks right through him. “Wait – how’d you know – new face you know?” he slaps his own cheek as he speaks - it is odd to refer to this face as new.

“She tells us stories every night, from her blue book. She shows us pictures.” His ribcage seems to constrict around his hearts at her words – his throat feels thick and tight and he blinks back sudden tears.

“She’s-” his voice catches and he tugs at his bowtie, quickly dragging a hand over his face as he pauses for breath, “She’s alright then?”

“She’s… sad. She smiles a lot but she’s still sad. I think she misses you. She doesn’t talk to me about it much,” Charlotte sighs softly and looks back at him. “She’ll want to talk to you though – may I fetch her?”

“Oh I don’t know that-” Clara punches his arm, _hard_ and he yelps. “Yes, that would be lovely Charlotte, thank you,” the Doctor squeaks out and she smiles, disappearing for a moment. The screen shorts out – goes blank and when it turns on again it is _her_ sitting there, with a smile that trembles at the edges and looking absolutely as terrified as he’s ever seen her. He reaches up, pressing a hand that shakes to the screen, and it is like something knotted up within him for so long he’d not even noticed it, loosens and lets go at the sight of the tears in her eyes or how _green_ they look. “ _River_ ,” he’s not seen her – not looked at her in what feels like ages, so his eyes scan her face eagerly. Fine brows, the arch of her nose, the fullness of her jaw, her mouth – god how had he forgotten every _detail_ of her mouth? How full her lower lip was and the simple warmth of her smile. Her hair is longer – he’d not noticed in the Library – it had been pulled back, but god – her glorious curls tumble over her shoulders and down her back and his breath catches at the sight of her.

“Hello, sweetie,” her voice is low and melodic and a sob catches in his throat, and suddenly he cannot keep it together – tears fall as he stares at her, dressed in white and looking at him like she still loves him – and _how can she still love him_? “Oh honey, hush now – stop, _please_. Don’t you – it’s alright, sweetie,” she comforts him, and he wants to shout, or shake the screen and tell her to please stop, please _hate_ him as she ought to because he’s done nothing but ruin her life and take and take and take from her, and even looking at her now – all he wants is to take a little more.

“I’m so sorry, River,” the words are barely distinguishable and she smiles at him, shaking her head.

“Stop presuming, Doctor. Look at you – I bet you’re brooding, aren’t you? _Don’t_. It’s not your fault you know – my life is and always was a culmination of _my own_ choices. So don’t tell me you’re sorry unless you mean you’re sorry it happened at all.”

“Never – River, I – I wish I could have given you _more_ -”

“Some things aren’t possible my love,” she laughs softly. “Not because you’re not capable, but because I cannot imagine you giving me _more_ than everything we had. I’m glad you came – I never – I never thought you’d look back, you know,” she stops then, pressing a hand to her mouth and he can tell it’s shaking.

“I see you everywhere anyway,” he whispers, his fingers stroking along her face. “I – but I’m here for a reason,” he drags his hands over his face, unsure how to really begin to approach this.

“Is it time?” she brightens at that, grinning and wriggling a bit – her hair bounces and he frowns in confusion. “I mean, I knew you would either come get me or join me, but I tried not to really _think_ about it, sweetie – time isn’t – isn’t _right_ in here.” She confesses this in a rush and his hearts squeeze together as his breathing gets shallow. He is both torn apart by the thought that she seems to think he can rescue her, and weighed down by guilt over the fact that she must feel the distortion of time in there so acutely.

“River, I-” his voice is hoarse and he finds himself shoved to the side by Clara, who pops her head into frame.

“ _We_ are absolutely here to rescue you. I’m Oswald – well it’s my last name, but the first two never suited me. Lovely to meet you – and I do mean lovely – honestly, I _cannot_ believe this giant idiot managed to snag someone like _you_. Pity,” she sighs and shakes her head as River smiles in bemusement. “Not the point,” Clara waves a finger at the screen and grins. “Point is that _I_ am a total screaming genius – better than him, but he’d never admit it,” Clara whispers as he glares at her and River laughs warmly.

“He never does, dear,” River agrees and Clara beams at her.

“So I need a bit of access to the mainframe code. See, there a very nasty virus controlling a ship that’s sort of headed this way – I mean it’s gonna stop in ports along the way, but eventually it will get here and infect the hard drive. There’s 4000 people aboard – all kept in a coma by a neural toxin – we were only able to clear and access one cargo bay. Can’t risk their lives, so obviously we need to get all of you out, and in order to do that I need access to all the files.” River’s smile falters at that and her face grows serious as she listens.

“I think so,” she looks to the left and just like that the image splits, strings of unintelligible numbers and letters streaming across the screen. Clara gives a quick thumbs up, her fingers flying over the keyboard. “What do you need?”

“Oh you out of there would do in a pinch – I bet the chin here would be _much_ easier to handle with you around – plus you’re _far_ easier on the eyes – more my type,” Clara winks and then frowns at the screen.  “I thought the Doctor said there were six of you?”

River’s smile falters and falls as she shakes her head gently. “There were four others, but after a – a long while, they couldn’t take it. They wanted to go on – so as they requested, Charlotte deleted their information.” River’s voice is husky and the Doctor crowds over Clara’s shoulder as he stares at her.

“How long is a long while, River?” he demands and she glances away, unable to meet his eyes. “River!”

“Don’t – sweetie. It doesn’t matter – you’re _here_ now.” He swallows at her words, wondering – how long was long enough that four separate people of varying personalities would ask to _die_? In paradise, no less. Access to every book. _Ever_. Proper Dave had probably gone first. Then Miss Evangelista would be scared and go second. Other Dave and Anita would have gone together, he thinks, but he knows Anita would have stayed a long, long time for River’s sake – and then some.

“Okay, so if I can just get genetic code for you and Charlotte,” Clara taps her chin thoughtfully, her mind racing as River’s gaze gets sadder if possible.

“Doctor – we don’t have that information for Charlotte, and even if we _did_ , she was sick – it wouldn’t be-”

“You should go without me,” Charlotte speaks offscreen, moving into frame as she takes River’s hands.

“What? _No_ , I’m not leaving you, honey,” River shakes her head as she hugs the girl to her.

“But you can go on River – back to your life and the Doctor. It’s everything you’ve wanted,” Charlotte’s voice is small but firm and River only hugs her tighter in response.

“I don’t want to lose you either,” her voice is rough as she presses a kiss to the small girl's head, and the Doctor watches, an odd sensation in his chest. He’d never seen River with many children – for some reason he’d assumed she wouldn’t be very good with them, but she was so – so _maternal._

Clara is typing faster than he’s ever seen before, accessing the data base in the TARDIS – and he’s surprised because the TARDIS is freely letting her. His ship thrums in the back of his mind, low and reassuring. “Well no one is losing anyone because I? Am a _proper_ genius. I _am_ good – and I mean _really_ good. Not only did the TARDIS file your DNA River –I can reconstruct it no problem, but I found the Doctor’s DNA and-”

“Oi!” he protests and Clara glares at him over her shoulder.

“Hush now, adults talking,” she scolds before she continues to speak, “and I can’t recreate Charlotte as _is_ exactly but I can combine yours and the Doctor’s DNA – a little biochemical coding and voila – picked that up in that 53 rd century medical text you have in the library Doctor. I was bored one day,” she laughs brightly as all three of them gape at her, “and okay so she won’t look like that but I can simulate aging the DNA structure and still make her a girl but she’d be more or less yours – and,”

“You’re going to _loom_ her a new body?” River splutters and the Doctor nods, pointing at the screen and then at Clara, who shrugs. “But that’s not possible – our DNA isn’t fully compatible for – for children.” The Doctor turns to stare at River, who shrugs and looks uncomfortable. “I asked the TARDIS once – just – to – to _see_ if we could. I didn’t want to mention it to you, in case it wasn’t possible,” she whispers the last bit and he stares at her, absolutely floored.

“I never thought you wanted-”

“Well we _couldn’t_ so I didn’t bring it up,” she hugs Charlotte to her side as she speaks.

“It’ll take me about forty-eight hours to code and simulate, give or take a few hours for naps,” Clara offers brightly. “So, what does everyone think?”

“Charlotte, how would you feel about that?” River asks the young girl softly, and she looks out of the screen, her eyes ageless.

“Would I have all of my memories?”

“Absolutely,” Clara affirms. “Easy as the push of a button.”

The Doctor wrings his hands, hysterical laughter bubbling in his throat because he’d never imagined – not even _guessed_ – oh he knew Clara was clever with technology – but he’d never thought to apply it to _this_ situation.

River. With him – always. And a – a _daughter_ for all intents and purposes.

A family.

His chest feels like it is about to crack in two as he and River stare at Charlotte. No matter what she chooses – they will rescue River. Whether she wants it or not. He cannot – _cannot_ let her go. Not when Clara Oswin Oswald is offering him the chance to save her. “Will I be like them?”

“More like River than the Doctor, but yeah,” Clara glances at the Doctor as she speaks, and he knows – there’s something she’s not saying, but he’s willing to wait.

“Do you think I’ll have hair like yours?” Charlotte turns to River in agreement, touching her hair and River laughs, shaking her head.

“I hope not!” She laughs just as the Doctor says,

“Most definitely!”  River glares at him and he shrugs unapologetically. “I love it.”

“You’re biased, sweetie,” she scolds and he laughs, beaming at her.

“You’re damn right I am,” he smiles, wanting to tell her just _how_ biased he is. How much he’s missed her. How much he loves her – more every minute he had her, and twice that since she’s been gone. But he’s never said those words to her enough – he’s rubbish at marriages too, something he plans on revising as soon as possible – and when he does say all that and more, she needs to be within arm’s reach

“How long do we have to wait?” River asks breathlessly, her grin bright and wide.

“Two minutes. I’ll pop out and let Clara work and back again. You’re not waiting a single minute longer for me, River Song.” She smiles and presses her hand to her mouth, kissing her fingers and pressing them to the screen. “I’ll be right back,” he promises fervently – and never has he ever meant a promise more than he means this one.

“We’ll be waiting,” she says in lieu of goodbye, and he loves her just a touch more for that. He hates goodbyes, and she knows that.

The screen goes blank and he breathes out carefully before he looks at Clara. “What weren’t you telling them?”

“I think we may need a bit of energy to pull this off. And I’m not sure what kind or where to get it – but to – to animate the cells…” he stares at her and waits for her to continue. She sighs and rolls her eyes. “Fine, I know what kind and where to get it – but it could potentially take _years_ off of your life-”

“I don’t care,” he insists and she nods.

“Thought you might say that,” she mutters.

“But don’t tell River,” he winces, remembering the last time he’d used regeneration energy to heal her. “She won’t like it,” he adds. He begins to pilot the two days back in time, and looks at Clara. “And use – use the DNA sample from Berlin for River,” he adds. He knows the TARDIS has taken samples all along – but he’s praying she took one before River had saved him. It’s not likely she’ll get her regenerations back, but it’s _possible_ and he’ll take a maybe over a definitely not.

Clara nods, before she hurried off into the TARDIS, and he braces himself for the longest forty-eight hours of his life.

_~*~*~*~_

Neither of them sleeps during that time. He keeps feeding her, because he feels a bit useless and anxious, but mostly she is too distracted with what she’s working on to even bother to eat what he brings her.

All he can do is pace, and mutter, tear his hair out and pace more. He finds himself going over and over all of his memories with River, in a way he’s never allowed himself to before. Their time together is like shards of glass – bright and sparkling, but sharp and painful to handle. There is always one moment – one thing he’d said he wishes he could take back, one reminder, one look, one _something_. They don’t have a single memory together that he can recall that he can’t find some way to cut himself open on.

He opens his diary for the first time since he said goodbye. He’s never felt an urge to open it, because his notes are sparse and bare – a timestamp, a date, a one line description that encompasses nothing of value. He’d never written in his book the way she did in hers – committing everything to paper so details can be cherished and remembered and relived. He was stubborn at first – he’d not wanted to give her more worth when he’d first felt the need to write things down. He’d loved her – oh had he loved her, but he hadn’t wanted to admit that idea out loud. Not even to himself.

So all he had were pages with jumbled little one liners, scratched out in messy Gallifreyan. It was a sad, slim little volume and he stares at it, and thinking of her diary – how full it had been, how worn and frayed from constant handling and such _love_. Yellowed pages assembled with care and some so well read they hung half out of the binding. He swallows and shoves his diary in his pocket, because he feels like it’s an all too accurate representation of their relationship. Her all substance and depth and somehow more beautiful because of it, and he a poor facsimile. He’d wasted so much time with her. Wasted so much of her life, her heart, her soul.

“I’ll be better,” he promises himself in a whisper. “This time, every second will _count_.”

He thinks wild thoughts about the future – how he absolutely will not let a single day go by without telling her how much he loves her, over and over and over again. How he will never not touch her, not hold her close simply because she is standing next to him, how he will somehow atone for everything in their past.

He thinks about Charlotte – and how they won’t be alone. He thinks of all the best, most fun planets for children – even though Charlotte is ages old underneath that little girl façade – they are all older than they look, and they more than anyone deserve some childish fun right now.

He helps the TARDIS design her a room, and the fact that the TARDIS lets him tells him she knows how anxious he is, how much he needs to be distracted. He goes to his own room – cleans, and shakes the dust off of everything, pulls River’s clothes forward from where they were hidden away at the back of his closet, lines her shoes up and hides all of his hats.

Just in case.

He paces and mutters and writes plans and schedules. He attempts to write seventy-one speeches telling River how much he loves her, but they’re all utter rubbish and he’s no good with words in the before – it always comes in the moment.

He _hopes_ it will come in the moment.

He wrings his hands and paces the console room, wondering what she will think of the new design. He’s debating the concept of altering it – it’s austere and _cold_ and while two days ago that had felt like a perfect fit, now he tries to picture River here with him – Charlotte – it doesn’t _fit_. The TARDIS won’t let him access the desktop customization though, and he glares at the rotors above him, knowing why.

The Gallifreyan written there had felt so apt at the time – a mourning song, a declaration of how lonely his hearts were, a goodbye. He’d never planned on living past this regeneration. It was always an option to simply not regenerate and he’d wanted to leave a note. A note no one could read – but it would inscribe the only monument he’d leave behind – his beloved ship.  But he doesn’t want her to _see_ that – to know how far he’d fallen in the aftermath.

Clearly the TARDIS has other ideas.

“Okay I’ve got it.” Clara bursts into the console room, her face lined with exhaustion. “I _think_. We have to create the shells-” it’s what she’s taken to calling them – until River and Charlotte are downloaded it doesn’t seem quite right to call them by name – “but I think we’re ready to do it. Then we just need a bit of energy from you, and then do the transfer, and that’s… it.” She sighs softly, biting her lip. “It’s a bit anti-climactic isn’t it? Maybe I’ll shout ‘ _it’s alive!’_ in a very Frankenstein manner to liven it up?” She is teasing, he knows but he gives her a look and she widens her eyes. “Or _not_.”

She’s inputting a program file into the console, and he frowns. “Shouldn’t you be doing that in the lab?”

“Nope,” she shakes her head. “Too weird – I don’t think either of us need to watch that – you know, the creation and growth. It’d freak you out, and I don’t really want to – we’ll go down once it’s done.” She hits a key and then crosses her arms, watching as strings of numbers and codes flash across the screen.

“That’s it?” he asks incredulously and she nods. “You couldn’t even add some sort of fanfare type sound to the button pushing? Buttons should always have a lovely _noise_ – a _boing_ or a _click_ or a-”

“Yeah, I’ll hum for you later, chin boy.” She rolls her eyes and they both stare at the screen expectantly.

“How _long_ exactly does this take?” he asks finally and she sighs.

“A few hours,” she informs him tartly and he sighs, twirling around, his insides feeling like they were _vibrating_ in anticipation.

“That’s _forever_ ,” he whinges and she stares at him, one eyebrow arched up.

“ _Really?_ ”

“Sorry, sorry – it’s just –”

“You’ve waited years, you can wait a few hours Doctor,” she sighs and he sighs after her, flinging himself onto the jumpseat in a moody fit. “So tell me about her.” Clara sits next to him and looks at him expectantly. “No – wait – get me tea, and then tell me about her.”

So he does. He gets her tea, he makes her toast and pancakes and bacon – even though he still hates the taste of it himself – and he talks and talks and _talks_ about River. It’s everything he’s been going over in his own head anyway, but somehow telling Clara – with her interjected comments and responses, gasps and claps and sighs – somehow instead of being the painful exercise it was before, it becomes a story.

 _We’re all stories in the end_.

And he thinks he’s completely unbiased (maybe – a bit) when he decides that their story is the most beautiful one he’s ever told. Twists and turns and adventure and romance and danger and laughter and love. Highs and lows and every height in between. Action and stillness. He talks and talks to Clara until they hear an insistent beeping. He stops talking abruptly – mid-way through the story of the time he’d lost a bet with River over how many people Jack could willingly convince into bed at _once_ , and she’d made him take her to a nudist planet as her winnings.

“They’re finished,” Clara breathes out, and he looks at her, both of them still for a moment before they scramble to their feet and rush out into the hallway. Clara tugs on his sleeve at one point, shoving him toward the wardrobe ( _they need clothes Doctor_ ) and she makes him wait outside the lab while she checks that everything is okay, and dresses them.

“Why can’t I do that? She’s my _wife_.”

“And _daughter_ ,” she reminds him and he flushes a bright red, pulling at his bowtie and swallowing heavily. “I promise not to ogle your wife. Much.”

And he’s left to glare at the lab door, and pace once more. He _hates_ waiting and Clara is making him do _so much_ of it. Finally she comes to the door, and lets him inside. He rushes up to the table holding River’s body first, and oh god – she’s _perfect_. His hands shake as he touches her skin – it’s cold, but soft and his fingers trace the line of her brow, the sweep of her eyelashes, the delicate skin across her eyes, the bump of her nose, the fullness of her mouth – how her jaw sits in his palm perfectly, just like always. He wants to sob – simply lay down with her and hold her and _cry_ , but it’s not really _her_. Not yet.

But it _will_ be.

“She’s beautiful,” he whispers, looking up at Clara who is beaming with a slightly smug ‘ _I know I’m good_ ’ expression. It’s an expression he probably wears more often than not – but he’s so grateful he doesn’t _care_. “This has to work,” he prays out loud as he presses a kiss to River’s cold forehead, his hands buried in her hair – riotous curls that he’s missed so much.

“And here’s Charlotte’s,” Clara pulls him away, River’s curls tangling around his fingers as he clings to her for a moment before allowing himself to go look. It is bizarre, because she looks nothing like the little girl he is used to. Her hair isn’t as curly as River’s – there is a soft wave to the dark brown locks instead. Her nose isn’t River’s though, nor his own, thank goodness. There’s a bit of Amy about the tilt of it and he smiles to see it. She has River’s jaw, but her chin is more pointed than either of theirs and he frowns, because neither he, nor River, nor Amy had had – _Rory_. Her eyes are deep set like his though and that’s his mouth. It’s an odd sort of thing to look at – because she is _clearly_ him and River and a bit of his Ponds too, but they never created her, so it’s all a bit… odd. Her skin isn’t as pale as his, more the honeyed tones of River’s and he traces his fingers over her tiny hand, a bit more reluctant to touch this one. It feels inanimate – like a toy or a doll, or- “I know, super weird huh? Let’s get everything ready, then you can do the magic glowy lighty thing, and we can get this done.”

He looks up and nods, and Clara is over to the computer like a shot, reconnecting with the hard drive and preparing the files – encrypted data that contains everything his wife is and ever was – the whole thing is surreal. “Ready?” Clara looks up and he nods.

He starts with Charlotte, because she will be transferred first. _Test subject_. And he feels a bit bad about that, but selfishly, if anything goes wrong, he sure as hell doesn’t want it to be River. This girl will have his DNA, but he’s not attached to her – not yet.

He concentrates, breathing carefully. Huon energy doesn’t just _appear_ , it is a conscious painful transfer – which is another reason he is starting with Charlotte. She won’t know that – won’t realise he feels every moment of time he is shaving off here (and it is a _lot_ ). River would be _livid_. He feels the press and burn as he gathers pieces of himself and channels the energy out – killing himself a little bit at a time as he holds his not really but almost daughter’s hand and pushes the energy into her.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Clara’s voice draws him back and he is breathing heavily, sagging against the table’s edge as the body before him takes a breath, and the sound of heart beats fill the room. “Heart rates are good – I _think_ , I mean each is averaging about 86 bpm, is that good?” The Doctor nods, because he can’t quite find his voice yet. He feels _old_ and _tired_ , but he watches with his breath held as Clara continues. “Brain activity is arcing – initiating transfer _now_ ,” Charlotte’s tiny body stiffens, arching off the table as her limbs twitch and jerk. He and Clara watch tensely, his hands grip the table as the little girl before him drawn in a huge gasp and her eyes fly open.

Her whole body relaxes then, and she looks utterly lost and confused for a moment, before she see him. “Doctor?” her voice is soft, slightly different but almost the same as it had in the core.

“Charlotte?” he asks and she smiles slowly. Her eyes are like his too – a deep hazel that seems to shine brighter and brighter as she stares at him.

“It may take a moment for her brain to sort of – file everything. You okay kiddo?” Clara calls from where she stands behind the desk and Charlotte looks over at her, nodding jerkily.  She gasps and her hands fly up to her hair, her face falling.

“Not the same,” she pouts a bit before extending her arms in front of her, staring down at them in curiosity. “I’m all sorts of different now.”  She glances over at the other table and beams. “Can we get River now?”

“Yeah, we can. How’s your head? Do you remember everything?” Clara distracts Charlotte as the Doctor moves over to River, weak with exhaustion, but eager to get this over with. He welcomes the pain of it this time, his hands shaking as he presses them against her cheeks, before he leans down and kisses her softly, pouring energy into her. It’s much easier to continue than to start, and he faintly hears Clara’s shouts, and feels tiny hands pulling at him.

“Doctor!” Charlotte’s voice bleeds in through the energy, and he drops to his knees by the table as her arms wrap around him, not quite big enough to fit around his shoulders, so she squeezes at his neck instead. “Are you okay?” he looks up at her, there is worry in her eyes and he nods, clearing his throat.

“Don’t tell River,” he manages to whisper and she nods, still that solemn little girl inside, despite the new face she wears. He smiles, because it’s a little bit timelord of her, and he supposes she is in a way now.

“I won’t,” she agrees. He turns to look at the table but Charlotte’s hands press against his face as she shakes her head. “Don’t look. It’s scary.”

“I’m not scared, Charlotte. Nothing could be scarier than living without her.” He smiles reassuringly, and struggles to stand. Just as he pulls himself up, River gasps and her eyes open – glorious and familiar and confused. She glances around wildly, and her hand shoots out, reaching. He is surprised when she grasps Charlotte’s first, her body relaxing as she closes her eyes again, mentally gathering herself as they all wait.

“Doctor,” Clara hisses as she comes closer, tugging on his wrist with a sad expression. He frowns, glancing at her in irritation – this is _hardly_ the time. “I know, but – Charlotte remembers everything _in_ the Library. But nothing before. It only transferred her originally created memory files.” She whispers in a rush and he feels his hearts stutter at her words.

“What?” he hisses at her, whirling and taking his eyes off of River and Charlotte for a moment.

“She doesn’t remember her actual life – before the Library,” Clara says, her tone infinitely sad and he feels everything compress around him.

“River won’t-” his voice breaks and he sags against the end of the table as he stares at Clara numbly.

“I’m so sorry, Doctor,” she apologises, her dark eyes filled with tears. “I thought I calculated everything _perfectly_ , but it just-”

“No,” his voice is low and tight as he reaches out, squeezing her shoulder blindly. “No – you _saved_ her Clara. And even if – that’s all gone. She’s _alive_. And that’s a miracle.”

“But she won’t remember you – or your life – your marriage –” Clara is clearly absolutely torn up by this and he manages to smile, even though his chest aches.

“Then I’ll start over. Make her love me again, marry her a thousand more times.” He is convincing himself as much as her and she takes his hand, squeezing it softly.

“Doctor,” she nods behind him and he turns to see that River is sitting up now, hugging Charlotte tightly.

“River,” he breathes her name out and she looks up – and he is mentally preparing himself – he is a stranger to her now – he has to-

“Hello, sweetie,” her voice is soft and warm and his eyes fly up to hers, startled to see so much _love_ pouring out of them.

“You remember?” His whole body shakes as he stumbles closer, pushed by Clara’s hands as Charlotte slips from River’s arms and darts behind him. “River?”

She frowns a bit before shaking her head. “Not – not exactly. I don’t _remember_ it – but when I was in there – oh my Doctor, what book do you think I spent the most time in? _Ours_ ,” she speaks softly and reaches for him, pulling him closer. “I lived every story in there, all of them – front to back, and back to front, over and over again. In my order, or yours sometimes. I missed you _so much_ it was the closest I could come,” she confesses and he stares at her.  “I don’t remember _living_ them – not – but I remember them.”

“How do you feel?” he asks in a shaking voice, his hands running over her hair and along her shoulders as she smiles up at him.

“I don’t know. Like I’m wearing someone else’s life a bit. But I know it’s mine – you’re mine, and I feel – this feels _right_ ,” she looks down, indicating his arms around her as she smiles up at him.

He smiles back, leaning in hesitantly – not sure if she would feel uncomfortable or not. She rolls her eyes and presses her small hand to the back of his neck, tugging him down and kissing him, almost exactly like she had that first time. His hands lift off of her body in surprise before his brain catches up and he is _kissing River_ , so his hands settle, pulling her against him he deepens the kiss. She tastes almost the same – a little bit different – newer, like fresh snow, and he is greedy for the feel of her against him.

She doesn’t seem to mind, her hands curling into his hair as he tongue brushes against his and she hums in delight.

“Hey Charlotte, want to go signal ship, trap a virus and save a few thousand people? I think Mum and Dad may be a bit _busy_ for a while.”

“Oh it’s weird when you call them that.”

“I know, which is why I’m gonna do it as often as possible. Come on, I can look after you. I used to be a nanny you know. Sounds dull, I know but-”

“I think you’re _amazing_.”

“Yeah kid, me too.”

 


End file.
